Then her mamma flew to her and knelt down by her, kissing her, and crying aloud:
“Oh, Nixie! if he had hurt you,—if he had hurt you.”
“He knew I was not going to scream, mamma,” said Editha. “And he knew I was too little to hurt him. I told him so.”
She scarcely understood why mamma cried so much more at this, and why even papa’s eyes were wet as he held her close up to his breast.
“It is my fault, Francis,” wept the poor little mamma. “I have left her too much to herself, and I have not been a wise mother. Oh, to think of her risking her dear little life just to save me from being frightened, and to think of her giving up the things she loves for our sakes. I will be a better mother to her, after this, and take care of her more.”
But I am happy to say that the watch and locket and pearls were not altogether lost, and came back to their gentle little owner in time. About six months after, the burglar was caught, as burglars are apt to be, and, after being tried and sentenced to transportation to the penal settlements (which means that he was to be sent away to be a prisoner in a far country), a police officer came one day to see Editha’s papa, and he actually came from that burglar, who was in jail and wanted to see Editha for a special reason. Editha’s papa took her to see him, and the moment she entered his cell she knew him.
“How do you do, my lord?” she said, in a gentle tone.
“Not as lively as common, miss,” he answered, “in consekence o’ the confinement not bein’ good fer my ’e’lth.”
“None of your chaff,” said the police officer. “Say what you have to say.”
And then, strange to say, the burglar brought forth from under his mattress a box, which he handed to the little girl.